Page 3 of Saved By the Billionaire

Roman swung into the SUV, backed out of the alley and turned the beast of a car in the direction of his Tribeca penthouse, his blood seething at what he’d just seen—and the memories it had stirred right back to the surface.

To Kate, it felt almost like a dream. A collection of hazy memories that made no sense. A feeling of fear, and then of pain. Panic. Pain. Over and over, a cacophony of darkness. Menacing voices. Threats. Ripping fabric. Pain. Pleas—her voice, frantic, terrified. Someone else’s voice, strong and commanding, impossible to ignore. Big arms, skin on skin, relief. A sense of safety. Of thinking she was going to be okay. The smell of leather and new car, of pine and soap; bright lights passing in a blur, soft upholstery, and the reassuring thrum of an engine.

Exhausting.

It seeped through her body, so her eyes were impossibly heavy and her head seemed to want to loll forward.

“Stay with me.” It was that voice again. Deep and throaty, and despite its strength, comforting. She nodded, then winced. Her head was awful. She lifted a hand to relieve the ache; her fingers were sticky. She looked down at them, frowning. Jam. Red. Sticky.

“I’m bleeding,” she said, after the dots finally connected. “In your car.” She closed her eyes; it hurt too much to look at anything. “I’m sorry.”

Silence.

And then, darkness.

All he could think, as he carried her into the elevator and swiped the fob for his penthouse was that he wouldn’t fail her. He knew nothing about this woman, except that she’d been attacked. That she’d been vulnerable. But that didn’t matter. He would save her, because someone had to.

The doors opened directly into the double-height living area of his penthouse apartment, views of Central Park, and the high rises that bordered it, glistening in the distance. He carried her to the sofa, rather than a bedroom, placing her down. Her eyes flickered open; a good sign. He’d treated concussions before. His mother had suffered enough at his father’s hands.

“What’s your name?” he asked, hating the sight of the blood that had matted in the woman’s pale blonde hair.

Her eyes, moss green and round, blinked up at him. “Where am I?”

“My place.”

“Not a hospital?”

“No.” Her insistence in avoiding an ambulance, or the police, couldn’t help but spark curiosity. If it were just the medical situation, he’d have put it down to the cost. But the police?

She nodded, then winced. “Kate.” Her voice emerged hoarse and her throat shifted visibly as she swallowed. “My name is Kate. And you are?”

“Roman.” He crouched down beside her, so she didn’t have to angle her face towards his. “Do you know where you are?”

Her lips tightened into a small smile. “Not a hospital.”

He didn’t smile back. “City?”

A flicker of concern and then, “New York.”

“Do you know what happened tonight?”

Her skin paled. “I was attacked.”

A metallic taste filled his mouth and anger was like a sharpened blade in his belly. “Yes.”

“They were—if you hadn’t been there⁠—”

“I know.” He tried to brush away her comment. He didn’t want to think about what they’d clearly been intending. The sight of her bloodied head was bad enough. “What happened?”

“I was walking home.” She spoke haltingly, as though answering required fierce concentration. “I was distracted; I got lost. I took a wrong turn, and my phone—oh. My phone. Where’s my phone?” she looked around, panic on her face. “Oh, my bag!”

She moved to stand and his hands reflexively shifted towards her, wrapping around her arms with easy confidence and strength, holding her still. She startled, eyes jerking to his, big and pale, and loaded with emotions.

“Garrett will bring your things.”

“Garrett?”

“The man who met us at the alley. You can trust him.”